


Kashmir

by mycitruspocket



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom Eames, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: “What did you get this time?” Arthur asks as he walks over to him, eyes raking up and down his body hungrily before he leans in to kiss him. “And where?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my darling Kate_the_reader, my tattoo expert and prompt-giver, and my dear Erasmus_Jones for their beta work!

Eames wakes from a lovely afternoon nap to the loud bang of the hotel room door slamming shut and Arthur yelling ‘fuck’ five times in a row. Only when he gets up from the sofa does he notice the hailstones tapping aggressively at the window pane.

“Darling,” he shouts and sprints towards the noise. “Everything ok?”

He finds Arthur, dripping wet and furious, trying to wriggle out of his sodden jumper while mumbling frustratedly to himself.

“Oh love, come here.”

Arthur doesn’t, just tries to yank it over his head even more frantically than before.

“Let me help, petal, please.”

“Petal? There are fucking petals scattered everywhere out there. In the air, on the street, in my hair, in my mouth,” Arthur trails off, then huffs and gives up, one arm and half his head still hidden in the mess of maroon wool. He looks ridiculous and so adorable Eames has to bite his lip to stop himself from showering Arthur with a million more pet names.

Eames frees him, pulls the fabric carefully away from Arthur’s shaking body and runs one hand through his damp hair because he knows Arthur hates it when it looks so messy. He plucks some pink petals out of it until Arthur calms down.

“Who knew it could hail like this in Kashmir,” Arthur sighs, looking at the jumper in Eames’ hand.

“Spring storms like this? They can happen anywhere in the world, nowadays, I fear,” Eames says and puts the jumper on a hanger so it can dry properly.

“Thanks,” Arthur says and flinches when he tries to smile at him. Eames notices a bruise on his left cheekbone. He reaches out, fingers hovering, not daring to touch when Arthur leans out of his reach.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing compared to what the hailstones did to the almond blossoms you love so much.”

“Well, I love you more, don’t care about the sodding trees,” Eames says and it sounds a bit more petulant than he’d intended.

Arthur relaxes against the wall, looks him in the eyes and suddenly laughs out loud even though it must hurt at least a little. It’s Eames’ favourite kind of Arthur laugh, the one only he gets to see. It’s unguarded, pure joy and happiness, and it makes Eames feel impossibly tender. Stepping closer, he cups Arthur’s smiling face in his hands and places a gentle kiss right under the bruise.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers against Arthur’s cool and damp skin. It makes Arthur shiver so Eames takes his hand and pulls him in the direction of the bed, intending to warm him up properly once he gets him out of the remaining layers of wet clothing.

*

Two months later and Eames can’t get home to Arthur soon enough. The job was tedious, which is not unusual for jobs he works without Arthur. He honestly doesn’t know why he even takes them anymore.

Eames knows that Arthur knows what he’s done by the first look Arthur gives him; intrigued smile playing on his lips, his eyes shining with curiosity. He always seems to sense when Eames gets new ink, he just knows him so damn well. Arthur must notice the way he holds himself, how he is aware of the soreness but happy and proud, itching to tell Arthur, to show him.

“What did you get this time?” Arthur asks as he walks over to him, eyes raking up and down his body hungrily before he leans in to kiss him. “And where?”

“Left shoulder blade,” Eames grins, then pulls away to reach for his bag. He finds his sketchbook and shows Arthur his design of a branch with almond blossoms.

“Ah, your own work, then. It’s beautiful, Eames. Wow, are the actual almonds here paisley shaped? How very you.”

Eames goes a little weak at the knees at the adoration in Arthur’s eyes and voice and has to clear his throat before he explains. “There’s a theory that paisley actually is an almond-inspired motif. The design goes all the way back to when Kashmir shawls were traded on the silk road.”

“So you really do love them,” says Arthur, his fingertips stroking over the blossoms and the paisley on the paper and Eames can’t wait for him to explore it on his skin like this.

“Yeah, I do. I happen to fall in love with stunningly beautiful things like that, can’t help it. Why do you think I have so many tattoos inspired by you? No reason to be jealous, darling. Think about the poor trees, all bereft of their lovely petals, they deserve one, too.”

He thinks he said it casually enough, but there is something about how fast Arthur’s dimples appear, and how deep they are, that tells him he already suspects that there is more to this new tattoo than Eames lets on.

“No,” Arthur interrupts when Eames starts unbuttoning his shirt so he can show him. “Let me. I don’t want to rush this.”

Arthur steps behind him, hands roaming across his front, fingers playing with the buttons while he nibbles at the nape of Eames’ neck. When the shirt finally falls down on the floor, Arthur’s breath catches. His fingers trail the words first, Eames can feel it, knowing exactly where they are etched into his skin. The freshly healed skin is still so sensitive that it tingles.

Eames closes his eyes, bows his head and leans into Arthur’s touch. This is his favourite part in the process of getting a new tattoo; Arthur’s response, the way he puts so much devotion into getting to know this new element of Eames’ body.

“It was for me all along,” Arthur whispers, brushing his lips over it.

“Of course, it always is.”

Arthur kisses it softly and reaches around Eames’ waist to undo his trousers, then pushes them down together with his boxers. “Lie down on the bed, on your stomach, I want to see it.”

Eames does, folds his arms and rests his face on his hands, spreading his legs wide, invitingly.

Arthur is naked when he stretches out on top of him and Eames loses track of time completely while he leaves kisses all over Eames’ back, makes sure to reach every inch of skin there, but always returning to his left shoulder. When he licks circles at the small of his back, slowly moving downwards, it’s his hand that reaches up to his shoulder, scratches very carefully at the tender patch of overstimulated nerve endings.

“Say it, I want to hear you say it,” Arthur demands, voice strained, and Eames feels his breath hot and damp where he parts his cheeks.

“Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream.” Eames’ voice breaks a little as he says the words and he thinks back to their time in Kashmir, about his Arthur in the storm. But Arthur doesn’t let him ponder over the memories too long, anchors him in the present when he licks over his hole and makes him swear into the pillow.

Teasing licks, at first. He takes his sweet time, drives Eames absolutely mad for him as he opens him up. When he finally fucks him, he does it just as slowly, makes Eames say the most ridiculous pet names as he begs rather helplessly.

Arthur lets him come when his own cock starts pulsing deep inside him, his forehead is pressed against Eames’ left shoulder as their bodies rock gently.

Eames melts into the mattress, feels boneless and happy, but he’s exhausted. He’s only partly aware of Arthur’s trip to the bathroom and of his capable hands doing an efficient but gentle clean-up before he slides back into bed. Under the duvet, he presses his body against the length of Eames’ back, nose rubbing against the paisley-almonds and the blossoms.

“You love it,” Eames murmurs, half asleep already. "I hoped you would."

“Hm, yes I do, but I love you more,” Arthur says very softly and Eames can feel him smile against his skin.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's a song fic. I used to write some porn scenes with Led Zeppelin's Kashmir on loop, a few days ago it was on the radio and then this happened... The words from Eames' tattoo are a line from the song, they just fit so well.
> 
>  
> 
> [Picture source.](http://thetropicalist.press/2016/05/trop-picks-almond/)


End file.
